


Writing's on the Wall

by MayaAodhan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, No story to speak of, Pure Unadulterated Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:09:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7438411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaAodhan/pseuds/MayaAodhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wanted to write pure fluff. Little bit of angst. But then just fluff. Domestic fluff. Plus it was requested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing's on the Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImItchingonaPhotograph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImItchingonaPhotograph/gifts).



  
“Writing’s on the wall, buddy, you can’t deny it.”   
“You can just … shut up,” came the gruff reply.   
“What?” The teasing tone continued. “I can see it from a mile off. So can anyone else with eyes.”   
“I swear, Sammy, I’m going to pound you into the dirt the next time you say shit like that to me. You might be strong, but I’m fast.”   
“Just saying.” Sam’s voice gentled. “Why don’t you tell him?”   
“Tell him what?” Dean tossed down the rag he was cleaning his pistol with.   
Sam was losing patience. Dean could hear the edge to his voice and it pleased him a little through the annoyance. He was always got a kick out of making Sammy lose his shit.   
“Tell him that you like him, you asshole.”   
“Sure I like him.” Dean clamped down on the sudden spike of nervous tension in his gut. “He already knows that. Wouldn’t want him around otherwise.”  
“No, jerk. I have seen the way you look at him.”   
Dean went very quiet. “Oh? And how do I look at him?” There was the subtle hint of danger in his tone.  
Sam glanced up, unfazed. “Like he’s Thanksgiving, Christmas and Valentine’s Day all rolled in to one.”   
Dean lapsed into a long silence, his hands going through the familiar motions of cleaning his weapons.  
“So what if I do?” he said finally.  
“Well he looks at you the same way.”   
Dean hesitated. Should he laugh this one off? Should he deflect? His fingers stilled. He tilted his head and looked up at the ceiling, taking a slow breath. “It doesn’t matter, Sammy.”   
“Dean…” Sam protested.  
“It … doesn’t…matter.” Dean stood up, a little jerkily. “Because the guy has been through enough. I’m no fricking prize. This ain’t no romance novel where shit all works out happy ever after. There ain’t no happy ever after in this life, Sammy. You know that. The only chance we have is to quit. And I can’t quit, not knowing what’s out there. I’m going down, gun in my hand, still fightin’. I’m not going to do that to Cas. Not ever.”   
“Don’t you think that he should have some say in the matter?”   
“He’s a fricking angel, Sam.”  
“He doesn’t have his grace anymore.”   
“It doesn’t matter. Just because he doesn’t have his mojo, doesn’t make him any less a celestial damn being that has been in existence millions of years before the formation of the Earth. He saw all that, Sam. Saw all of it and now he’s trapped here. I’m not gonna make him any more trapped.”   
“You aren’t trapping him, Dean. Jeez. He made his choices, and a whole hell of a lot of them revolved around you.”   
Dean’s jaw clenched. He strode for the staircase leading out of the bunker.   
“Is there a problem?” Castiel wandered in from the kitchen. “Is there something wrong?”   
“Nothin’ to worry about, Cas.” Dean stared down at the angel. “Just a discussion between brothers.”   
“You were arguing.”   
Dean’s hand whitened on the bannister. “You heard us?”   
“Not the words, but your faces have that pinched expression you get when you argue.”   
“He just said you had bitchface, Sammy.”   
“Oh go shove your head down a drain.”   
“Sounds good to me.” Dean stomped out, slamming the door of the bunker.

Castiel stared between Sam and the closed door. “What on earth is going on?”  
“Talk to that jackass. I’m going for a run.” Sam stood up abruptly, his chair screeching over the floor.  
Castiel fidgeted with the dishtowel he held in his hands, twisting the faded cloth, staring at the table littered with last night’s beer bottles and a set of stacked plates. Wordlessly, he picked up the plates and hitched the empties in crooked fingers and sighed a little as he heard the bunker door slam again as Sam exited.   
They were going to require new hinges.

Sam returned, his taciturn mood blown away by the frigid Kansas wind, and his huge feet clattered down the stairs. Castiel glanced up from his position at the table, a large tome spread open on the table before him.   
“Feeling better?” Castiel asked drily.  
“Only my brother can wind me up in knots that fast.” Sam gave a self mocking shake of his head.   
“He’s had plenty of time to practice.”   
“Combined with natural skill and I get pretty fit when I go running.” Sam cracked the top off a bottle of water and took a huge draught. “I’m gonna go shower.”   
“Of course.”   
Sam paused in the doorway. “Hey Cas?”   
“Yes Sam?”   
“Can I ask you something?”   
Castiel leaned back, his fingers linked and resting on the book. “I suppose.”   
“How do you feel about Dean?”   
Castiel’s brow darkened. “I beg your pardon?” His voice roughened.   
Sam held up his hands. “No smiting. Please.” He shifted awkwardly. “Just…y’know…how do you feel when you see him?”  
Castiel closed his eyes and took a slow breath. “Conflicted.”   
“Conflicted?”   
“Yes.” Sam was silent. Castiel opened his eyes. “Was that not sufficient?”  
“Confusing rather than sufficient.”   
“Enjoy your shower, Sam.” Castiel returned his attention to his book.   
“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”   
When he was alone, Castiel drove his fingers into his hair, an expression of despondency briefly flashing across his normally composed features.

Castiel heard the door of the bunker close and the slow steps resonated with hesitation as Dean returned. He slid the lid of the pot closed, and gathered up the peelings.   
“Hey.” Dean’s voice was subdued behind him.   
Castiel paused, his hand briefly crushing the carrot skins. “Hello Dean.”   
“Cold out.”   
“It is winter.”   
“…right.”   
Castiel relented and looked up at the man who somehow managed to snarl his emotions into knots. Emotions he was still trying to get a damn handle on. Dean’s hair was wind tangled, his cheeks flushed. A six pack of beer clanked as he set it on the kitchen table.   
“What’re you cooking?” Dean tried again.   
“Soup.” Castiel swiped his hands down his apron. “Shall I put your beer in the refrigerator?” He held his hand out.   
“Sure.”   
Castiel turned, cardboard carrier in hand and opened the fridge door. When he turned back, Dean was standing right in front of him, eyes curiously intense, mouth set in grim lines as though he had an unpleasant duty to perform.   
Castiel’s heart sank. He remembered the last time Dean had looked at him like that. He had requested his departure from the bunker. With slow movements, he plucked the strings of his apron, his throat tight.   
“Dinner will be ready in an hour,” he said hoarsely.   
“Cas…” Dean began.   
“Sam would no doubt prefer salad,” Castiel spoke desperately over top of Dean, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes. “I need a shower.”   
“Cas, wait.” Dean reached out for him, and gripped his shoulder. “I need to…”   
“Don’t worry about it,” Castiel said quietly. “I understand.”   
Dean blinked. “What?”   
“I understand.” Castiel tugged the apron over his head and tossed it on the counter. “I will leave in the morning.”   
Dean’s hands fisted. “Shit. Cas. I’m sorry.” He pressed the heel of his hand into his gut. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t go. I won’t make it weird. I promise.”   
Castiel frowned. “What?” He tilted his head, intensely aware of some miscommunication taking place.   
“I won’t make it weird.” Dean drove his hands into his hair. “I thought…Sam said…I should say something, but I thought you did…and you don’t and I’m sorry.”   
“Don’t…what?” Castiel studied Dean’s troubled face and realised that he had very much misread the situation.   
Dean held up his hands. “Sorry, man. Forget I said anything.” He wheeled around and strode rapidly for the door of the kitchen.   
“Dean!” Castiel said urgently. “Wait!”   
Dean hesitated at the doorway. “Yeah?”   
“Yes.” Castiel approached hesitantly, his right hand rubbing up and down his left forearm.   
“Sorry?”   
“Sam asked me earlier what I felt for you. And I replied that I was conflicted.”  
Dean visibly swallowed and closed his eyes.   
Castiel continued. “Conflicted because on the one hand I find myself so much in love with you, and on the other hand, not wanting to ruin my friendship with the most incredible man I have ever known by making him aware of said fact.   
Dean’s mouth dropped open.   
“Especially when he had given me little indication that he might have felt something for me.”   
The corners of Dean’s mouth curved, just a little. “You love me?”   
“Yes.”   
Dean, his face alight with joy, stepped forward. “You love me.”   
Castiel frowned. “Yes? I said that. My opinion hasn’t changed in the past few seconds.” He couldn’t keep the disgruntled tone from his voice.  
Dean’s fingers curled into the soft white cotton of Castiel’s shirt. “You love me.” He tugged the Angel a little closer.   
Castiel’s hands went hesitantly to Dean’s hips, under the chilled canvas fabric of his coat and over the warm flannellette. Dean’s lips hovered a few inches away. “You love me.” He whispered again, his heart in his eyes and his voice breaking a little. “Cas…”   
Castiel closed the last inch and slanted his lips over Dean’s. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s back and made a sound low in his throat as they pressed together. He felt Dean’s fingertips slide up his neck and into his hair. When they broke apart to catch a gasp of breath, Dean broke the intense silence first.   
“Cas…I need you. I love you.” His rough thumb traced over Castiel’s cheek bone. “God, I love you.”   
“I find myself less conflicted now,” Castiel said matter-of-factly.   
“Good.” Dean grinned.

“Hey something smells-” Sam stomped into the kitchen. “ARGH! What the…?”   
Castiel put both hands on Dean’s chest and pushed him back. Heat suffused his face as he could only imagine the scene now burned onto Sam’s retinas. It probably involved Dean, having maneuvered Castiel back against the kitchen bench, with his lips firmly planted on Castiel’s, their groins pressed together with maybe just a little grinding going on.   
Sam had his hands plastered over his eyes. “My eyes!”   
“Shut up, you ass. What did you think was going to happen?”   
“What? When you finally got your heads out of your asses?” Sam dramatically lowered his hands. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to catch you both necking in the kitchen like teenagers.   
Castiel looked up into Dean’s face and was amused at the blush.  
“Sammy?”   
“Yeah?”   
“Shut up.” Dean grabbed Castiel by the hand and tugged him toward the hallway. “You can deal with dinner. Cas and I have a couple of conversations to have.”   
Sam held up his hand and opened his mouth.   
Dean stared at him fiercely.   
He deflated. “You got it.” He stuck both thumbs in the air.

Dean from his shower and yanked the beer from the fridge and twisted the top.   
“Want anything?” he called out to the sitting room where Cas’ bent head was visibly over the battered fabric of the couch.   
“Thank you, no.”   
Dean wandered into the room, the television tuned to the history channel. Cas was leaning on the arm of the couch until Dean lightly touched his shoulder.   
“Are you two going to be gross?” Sam grumbled.   
“Yes,” Dean said emphatically as Castiel impassively shifted aside and forward. Dean slid in behind him and Castiel easily made himself comfortable against Dean’s chest as though he had been doing it forever. “What are we watching?”   
Sam kept his eyes fixed on the screen. “Civil War Documentary.”   
“Which one?”   
“American.”   
“Cosy.”   
“Well what do you want to watch?” Sam snipped.  
“Casablanca is on.”  
Sam looked askance at his sibling, currently wrapped around the dark haired, blue eyed, surprisingly sarcastic Angel of the Lord, and said: “Its a chick flick.”   
“No, it’s not,” Dean snapped. “Back me up here, Cas.”  
“Leave me out of this,” Cas said drily.   
“You are morally obligated to back me up.”   
“Pfff,” Sam snorted. “Good luck with that.”   
“Dean, I will follow you to hell and drag your ass back out if you are ever stupid enough to sell your soul again without consulting me…but I’m not going to feed in to your delusions about what does and doesn’t constitute a ‘chick flick’ based on your desire to watch said movie.” Castiel tilted his head awkwardly to look up at Dean. “And you like watching chick flicks.”   
Dean scowled forbiddingly as Sam smugly changed the channel.

The rougarou had fed often and was strong and fast. It came after Dean with a vicious snarl and he was thrown across the room with a grunt and a crack of his head against the plaster. He slumped to the ground unconscious.   
Sam flicked the lighter desperately as the sound of glass splintering around him had him staring up in awe as Castiel smashed through, landing hard, his angel blade sliding into his hand. Eyes glowing an unearthly blue he joined the rougarou in combat, meeting clawlike hands with practiced combat.   
“Anytime, Sam.”   
Sam snapped his mouth shut and lit his home made flamethrower into action. “Ready!”   
Castiel threw the beast toward Sam, who released the fury of the flamethrower over it’s face. With a scream it twisted and burned. Castiel scrambled toward a blinking Dean, slowly rousing from his insensate state.   
“Cas?” he rasped.   
Castiel was silent, studying Dean’s face. Wiping aside blood that revealed a minor wound on his forehead he splayed his hand to heal, even as Dean reached up to push him away. “Wait, man, I’m okay.”   
“You are hurt.”   
“Just a bump. You guys got the thing, right?”   
“Yes. Sam sauteed its ass.”   
Dean slowly smiled. “You made a joke.”   
“I don’t see how setting fire to a monster is humorous…”   
“You don’t have to heal me.”   
Cas’ thumb smoothed over the hollow of Dean’s cheek. “I want to.”   
Dean’s hand curved gently over his wrist. “I’m okay.”   
Castiel kissed him.

Dean leaned his forehead against the cold tile of the shower. The hot water beat down on his shoulders, barely easing the tension in his muscles after the fight.   
The touch of a hand on the back of his neck, tracing down his spine had him tensing. A bare chest pressed against his back, lips brushing against his shoulder.   
“Are you okay?”   
“Yes.”   
Castiel’s hands soothed over Dean’s tense shoulders. “Alright.”   
Dean swallowed hard and straightened. He turned suddenly, startling Castiel a little, before folding Cas abruptly in his arms and burying his face into the curve of his neck.   
After a few moments, Castiel reached out and turned off the water. Silently, the two men dried themselves and dressed in sleep pants they tucked themselves into bed. Without asking, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean and held him close.

Dean awoke first, faceplanted in his pillow, a heavy weight resting over his back. He turned his head and studied the slack features of the man lying next to him. He smiled. It was nice to see that even powerful angels of the lord drooled in their sleep.   
Cas’ arm was splayed on his back and as Dean shifted around to face him, those incredible blue eyes opened, unfocused and sleep crusted. Cas yawned, and lifted his arm, knuckling his eyelids.   
“Morning.” Dean tugged the covers up. The air was chill.   
“Yeah,” Castiel muttered.   
“Need coffee?”   
Castiel murmured something unintelligible and turned his face into the pillow, sliding both arms underneath to prop himself up. Dean grinned and leaning over, dropped a kiss on the smooth skin of his shoulder.   
“Double shot coming up.”   
He scrambled out of bed.

Dean hummed as he made the coffee. He heard the door to the bunker bang and glanced out. Sam clattered down the stairs, dressed in his running gear.   
“Hey.” Sam greeted him with a beaming smile. “Went and picked up fresh bagels.” He shook the paper bag.   
“Yesss.” Dean clenched a fist and pumped it in celebration. “Bacon and eggs?”   
“Definitely.”  
“Coming right up.”   
“Where’s Cas?”   
Dean hesitated, and his voice was a little subdued. “Still in bed.”   
“Ah. Hence the double shot.” Sam yanked the coffee pot toward himself and sniffed appreciatively.   
“Yeah.” Dean set the bag of bagels on the kitchen bench and leaned against it with his arms crossed. “You sure you are okay with all this?”  
“Huh?” Sam glanced up, surprised. “What do you mean?”   
“Cas and…me. You good with it?”   
“Dean…jeez.” Sam rubbed his temple with two fingers. “You’re an idiot.”  
Dean scowled, offended. “You’re a dick.”   
“Of course I’m good with it.” Sam gave him a warm smile. “How could I not? He makes you happy. You make him happy. Of course I’m good.”   
“Oh.”   
“Idiot.”   
“Dick.” Dean paused. “Thanks.”   
“You’re welcome. For that I want my bacon extra crispy.”   
“You will get it how I serve it.”   
“I will turn your fed shirts pink.”   
“Try it and see what happens, sasquatch.”   
Sam just snorted with laughter before he snatched Dean’s cup of coffee and scrambled out of the kitchen.   
Dean let him with a smile and turned back to making coffee and breakfast for his boyfriend. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
